


Coming Home is Something Strange

by Tahlruil



Series: Winding Roads to Flowering Fields [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chris Worries About Stiles, Everyone Is Doing Their Best, How Do I Tag, Kinda, M/M, POV Chris Argent, POV Outsider, Peter Hates Scott, Peter Hates the McCall Pack, Peter Plays Video Games for Stiles, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Stiles Has Issues, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, The Domestic Vibe at the Stilinskis House Freaks Chris Out a Little, mentions of disordered eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahlruil/pseuds/Tahlruil
Summary: "Two weeks into living under John's roof, Chris realized that all four of them were settling into a routine that was decidedly, disturbingly, domestic. He and Peter banded together in the fight to keep the Stilinskis healthy, and half the time they seemed to end up doing the grocery shopping together. So long as they only talked about things like how many apples they should get and if they needed to pick up some detergent, things between them were just fine.They'd only tried to discuss the deeper things once. It had ended in a bloody nose for Chris and a knife laced with wolfsbane sticking out of Peter's thigh. Neither Stilinski male had been happy about it. Their reactions forced Chris and Peter into another unspoken truce, and that was... okay. Maybe they didn't need to hash out everything between them. Things had been a fucking mess between their families for centuries; their best bet seemed to be to let sleeping dogs lie."





	Coming Home is Something Strange

**Author's Note:**

> Next installment, and I didn't even stay up all night to write it! Win!
> 
> This one was weird to write, and I prooobably won't do another thing from Chris' POV because it was weird and hard. XD Also this is unbeta'd and probably has lots of errors. Sorry! <3
> 
> Comments maybe?

The young man waiting to pick him up was a pale imitation of the Stiles Stilinski that Chris remembered. That feeling went beyond the dark smudges beneath his eyes, or the way he looked more gaunt than gangly now. He'd always been sharp-eyed and restless, but even when they'd first met Chris had seen the spark of genuine curiosity behind so many of the teen's behaviors. Stiles had wanted to know everything - he was both the four year old who'd just learned the question 'why' and the learned scholar who delved into the mysteries of life for the love of knowledge wrapped up into one slightly spastic package. Chris remembered him as irritating and endearing in equal measure, with that spark of curiosity about the world lighting him up from the inside.

Now the way he darted his eyes around the room spoke more of panic than an itch to see the people around him. The way he was tapping his fingers one by one on his thighs looked more like he was counting than fidgeting, and if he didn't stop abusing his lower lip with his teeth he was going to make himself bleed.

If this was Stiles looking _better_ then Chris was glad he hadn't been around to the kid at his worst.

He also couldn't help but wonder if he shouldn't have stuck around long enough to have a talk with Stiles. Because yeah, he'd been... there wasn't a word for how destroyed he'd been to lose Allison, but he wasn't the only one who'd lost her. Before leaving he'd tried talking to Scott again, but it hadn't done anything but put him on edge - Scott talked about his daughter, his _baby_ , like he owned her memory, like his loss was the one that really counted. That had soured Chris' stomach, upset him enough that he hadn't bothered to try with anyone else but Isaac.

Chris should have tried with Stiles. He should have made sure the kid - God, they were all so _young_ even if they refused to believe it - knew Chris didn't blame him. He should have made sure Stiles knew that Chris wasn't leaving because of Stiles, or because he couldn't stand to look at him, or anything like that. Chris had just needed to be away from Beacon Hills, away from the town that had ripped his family away from him. Stiles wasn't at fault, not for Ally, not for his precious baby being gone from the world too soon. It was this town, the nemeton, everything that had happened years, _decades_ before Stiles and Scott had stumbled their way into the supernatural. Those things had taken Ally from him, not Stiles.

Maybe if he'd talked to Stiles before leaving, maybe if he'd reached out to the kid more once he was away... maybe Stiles wouldn't be looking up at him, pale and unsure with tears standing bright in his eyes.

"Chri-- Mr. Argent," he whispered, voice rough with emotion. He wasn't wringing his hands so much as scraping his blunt nails over the back of them in turns. Chris dropped his bag while Stiles struggled to continue, worry and self-recrimination twisting his stomach. "Hey. Uhm. How was your... I mean..." Chris reached forward and carefully settled his hands over Stiles', stopping their compulsive, destructive movement. Stiles started almost violently, then looked up at Chris with wide, wild eyes.

"Hey Stiles," he said softly, heart hurting for the kid in front of him who looked two seconds away from a breakdown. "It's good to see you."

At that, Stiles looked completely lost and out of sorts, like he couldn't understand why Chris was talking to him. He stared for a moment, mouth hanging open a little, then closed it hard and bit down on his lower lip. The tears in his eyes sharpened and then one started to fall. "I am so, _so_ so--"

"It wasn't your fault," Chris interrupted, keeping his voice firm and even. Fuck, Stiles was seventeen years old and carrying the dead around him as a visible weight on his shoulders. The kid was only a little younger than Allison had been, and he should be out having fun with his friends, worrying about his love life and homework and where he wanted to go to college. Chris wanted to bundle him up - him and his father both, actually, to carry them away from this cursed town that had a way of stealing innocence. "Stiles? It wasn't your fault, alright? You don't have anything to apologize for, and it _is_ good to see you."

Hugging wasn't a natural impulse with him, not after years of living under Gerard Argent's thumb. Chris had trained himself to do it with Allison - his daughter had loved hugs and cuddling - and when both he and Isaac had been drowning in grief they'd both learned to hold each other up. Seeing Stiles flounder in front of him, still struggling so desperately despite the time that had passed since the Nogitsune wreaked havoc on their lives, Chris realized the kid was still drowning. So even if hugs weren't necessarily something that came easily, he decided that the right thing to do was to try and hold him up.

Stiles seemed to break when Chris wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tight. The kid wasn't a loud crier, but Chris was close enough to hear the way Stiles was sobbing into his shoulder. It took a few moments before it happened, but then Stiles hesitantly brought his arms around Chris as well; while is hold wasn't as tight, he did grab hold of Chris' shirt, and he could feel the way the fabric was twisting and straining under the pressure.

Ignoring the hustle and the bustle around him, Chris focused on the kid snotting up his shirt, running one hand up and down his back. With Allison or Isaac, he'd have been whispering soothing words because he'd have known the ones to use - he wasn't sure what he could say to try and help comfort Stiles. So they just stood there holding onto each other, until Stiles finally pulled away, swiping at his eyes almost angrily.

"Sorry," he muttered, shooting Chris a look that was both embarrassed and defiant. "Usually don't cry."

"Nothing wrong with crying," he said easily, shrugging a shoulder before he grabbed his bags again. John had said the same thing to him one early morning months ago, after the night Chris had spent weeping against his chest in his bed, and it was true. There was nothing wrong with it and no shame in doing it; he'd learned that late in life, but the lessen had stuck once he had. With his free hand, Chris reached up and squeezed the back of Stiles' neck, smiling a little when tension flowed out of his shoulders.

Being pack adjacent to such a strong, stable pack had given him a lot of insight into the importance of touch. Stiles had almost certainly been spending as much time with Peter Hale as John had feared to have reacted the way he did. Chris kept his hand there as they walked through the airport to leave, glad it seemed to be doing some good. By the time they were outside, Stiles was almost smiling, and the change was a good one. He was still too pale and too thin, but at least a little bit of light was back in his eyes.

Chris wasn't thrilled to see the familiar blue jeep waiting for them in the parking lot. "It still runs?"

"Of course! My baby's never gonna die," Stiles told him proudly, petting his door before unlocking it. "I've used him to run over quite a few supernatural assholes and he's still going strong. Roscoe is indestructible. Is that really all you brought?" he said as he reached for Chris' single carry on and suitcase. "Dad said you were staying for awhile and this is not a lot. I mean, I guess since you're staying with us you don't need like, a lot, but even if this was all clothes - I mean it'd be enough clothes for me," he said while Chris headed for the passenger door and Stiles loaded his luggage into the jeep. "But Peter's going to judge you so hard if he finds out. I think he has too many clothes though. He thinks he's like, a fashion god or something. I haven't had the heart to tell him that he pales in comparison to Lyds. She is a goddess and Peter should..." Stiles, who had just thrown himself into the driver's seat, paused and shot Chris a look. "Uh. Should I not mention Peter? I know it's, uh. Complicated. Is complicated the right word?"

"I think 'fucked up' might be better, but complicated works," Chris said, keeping his voice dry instead of letting it turn angry. "We'll stick with complicated. ... John says Peter's been around a lot."

"... yeah. At first it was just - he's never touched me," Stiles told him firmly. "Well, he's touched me, but it's never been a bad touch. I know he comes off like the king of bad touches and creepy uncles, but he isn't... he's complicated. But he noticed that I wasn't... I was in a bad place."

"Scott and the pack weren't helping?" Chris asked casually, knowing the answer already. John had sent numerous texts ranting about the way Stiles' friends were all hanging out in the background instead of sticking by his kid. Stiles didn't look angry though, not like his dad was - he looked kind of sad, and the shadows had returned to his expression.

"They're not... look. You and Peter and dad might be determined to make me think that what happened wasn't my fault, but it's not... it isn't that simple. The Nogitsune didn't go after Scott or Allison - it came after _me_ , and it picked me for a reason. Some of the responsibility is mine, and Scott isn't... he's trying."

"I don't care why the Nogitsune decided to possess you - it doesn't make what happened your fault. You're a victim, Stiles." Seeing the way Stiles' fists started to grip the wheel too tightly, Chris decided it was time to back off on that point. He also figured he'd better keep his mouth shut about Scott McCall - he'd make his own judgement about that issue later, once he had been in town for a few days. "So... Peter noticed you weren't doing well?"

"Yeah. We were working on some monster of the week stuff, and I guess I'm not looking so good these days. In the opinion of _some_ people anyway. I'm pretty sure I'm still smokin', and that many of the ladies and dudes in Beacon Hills are desperate to hit this," Stiles said, mouth curved in a self-deprecating smile. "But yeah. He started coming in through the window at night. He helps, so dad finally decided he could hang around during the day too. So. Uh. He's gonna be around. A lot. If you want, Peter said I could go stay with him for a couple days while you settle in or whatever."

"Your dad would be okay with that?" Chris just couldn't picture Peter Hale being someone to trust your children with. They certainly hadn't been friends or anything close to it, but he'd encountered Peter a few times when they were young. He'd always been self-serving and manipulative, and from what he'd seen that hadn't changed with his death. There was a motive behind any attention he was paying to Stiles, there had to be - Chris just couldn't believe anything else. He sure as hell would never have let Allison spend a single second alone in Peter's den, and he was shocked that John might let his kid do just that.

"Probably? I didn't ask. I figured we could deal with that if you want a few Peter-free days while readjusting to the paradise that is Beacon Hills. It's such a lovely town - I don't know why people don't make this a destination of choice for weddings, honeymoons and spring break vacations." Chris couldn't help the short laugh that escaped, and Stiles shot him a brief smile. "I mean, a real-live Hellmouth is something everyone should see before they die. I personally think Joss Whedon passed through here at some point and that Beacon Hills was the real inspiration behind Buffy."

"I've never seen the show."

"Dude, you live that show," Stiles said with a shrug. "I haven't watched it since Scott got bit. Don't watch Supernatural or any other shows like that either. I'll stick to fantasy and science fiction, thanks - my life is already a horror movie. Do you need Peter-free days or no?"

"... why don't we wait and see what happens?"

"Yeah, okay. We can do that, absolutely. Uh. He'll probably be dropping by the house as soon as I pull in then. He's kind of... he worries, and he knew I was a bit, uh. Nervous. Not that you're scary or anything. I mean, not that you _aren't_. Uh. Peter'll probably let himself in pretty shortly after we get home, is what I'm really trying to say. My dad wants me to take you shopping for like, sheets and stuff. If we stop off at the homestead first to drop off your luggage, Peter'll probably end up coming with us. So if you're up to it, we can just go now, or we can drop off your stuff and try to beat Peter back with a bat to keep him from intruding. Or I guess... I _guess_ I could let you take Roscoe and go shopping by yourself, if you wanna be away from me or if you want to rest for a while before you go out."

Chris could not imagine anything he wanted to do less just then than go shopping with Peter Hale.

"I'm pretty wiped out," Chris said carefully. "It's been a long couple of days."

"So you wanna head home for a nap?"

"Sure, if there are sheets on my bed."

"Nah, there's definitely not but my old man won't mind if you use his just the once." Stiles shot him a look that was weighing and knowing, and Chris looked out the window to keep from blushing. "You can borrow Roscoe later to get some for you. If you really think you need them."

"Yes, Stiles, I'm going to need them." Chris said, glad Stiles couldn't hear the way his heart had started to pound a little faster. He had _not_ come back to sleep with John. They'd never... talked about any of it. There had been looks, hints, careful touches, but nothing concrete. Even in the phone conversation where he had offered to come back, they'd danced around actually saying it. Chris didn't know if he and John would ever be anything more than friends, so yes - he definitely needed sheets.

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Okay."

"Stiles."

"It's fine - you need your own sheets. I believe you."

"I will, I'm not lying."

"Not saying you are."

"Good because I'm not."

"... look, my dad hasn't had to buy condoms in a long time, so--"

" _Stiles!_ "

~.~.~

Watching Peter Hale interact with the Stilinskis was surreal to say the very least.

John was wary (rightfully so, in his opinion) but friendly, and he seemed to go out of his way to drop an easy hand on Peter's shoulder or gently clap him on the back as he passed. The werewolf would go tense for a brief second before relaxing and allowing a tiny smile to hover on his lips. Peter enforced the heart healthy diet as much as Stiles did, but he was also far more likely to sneak John a treat when the sheriff was having a bad day. The two would watch games together, drinking beers that didn't do a single thing for the werewolf and argue passionately about plays and calls and which players were the best. They acted almost like friends or, perhaps more accurately considering the circumstances, like a father and his son in law.

With Stiles, Peter showed a side of himself that Chris didn't think many had seen before. He wasn't... sweet, exactly, but he took care of the teen with obvious affection and devotion. Peter was almost always present during both breakfast and dinner, and he worked hard to distract Stiles enough to let the teen eat. He joked, snarked, snarled and smirked until Stiles had gotten through at least half of his 'real' food, and through the rest of the day Peter often tempted him with junk food. While Stiles still probably wasn't eating enough for a growing teenage boy, Chris could also see that without the werewolf Stiles likely wouldn't be eating much at all.

Peter wasn't around all day every day, but a few afternoons a week Chris would find him parked on the couch, playing video games. He only seemed to _enjoy_ playing the Sims, but Stiles seemed to hold complete control over what game ended up on the screen. It was beyond strange to watch the man who'd ripped his sister's throat out flash fangs and eyes because of his terrible aim when it came to shooters.

Wheedling turns at COD out of Stiles just so he could absolutely destroy Peter probably wasn't the _nicest_ thing to do. Chris just figured it was better than shooting him for real. Peter probably tolerated it only because of the way it made Stiles laugh.

Peter had made himself scarce on the day that Scott and the pack came over to welcome him back. Watching their strained interactions with both Stiles and John had the unsettling result of making Chris _grateful_ that Peter was around so often. After the McCall 'pack' was gone, Chris had talked the Stilinskis into visiting the shooting range with him - they'd left laughing and relaxed, the tension leftover from the friendly visit taken out on paper targets. Peter had sent him a thankful look over the chicken stir fry the werewolf had fixed them all for dinner, and just like that they became something close to allies.

Every night without fail, Peter was in Stiles' bed.

Chris... wasn't sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, Stiles needed more sleep than he got, and John had assured him that without Peter around the teen got even less. On the other, it was very, _very_ hard for him to buy the idea that Peter was interested in Stiles in a purely platonic fashion. There was no indication that anything beyond cuddling was happening behind that closed door, but it was still the hardest part of the odd arrangement for Chris accept. John admitted that it was the part that made him the most uneasy as well, but also seemed to trust Peter to abide by the agreement they'd made. Chris took some small comfort in knowing that if he ever walked in on them doing anything more than snuggling, he had been given permission to shoot the werewolf. Only with regular bullets until John had sorted things out, but it was better than nothing.

Two weeks into living under John's roof, Chris realized that all four of them were settling into a routine that was decidedly, disturbingly, domestic. He and Peter banded together in the fight to keep the Stilinskis healthy, and half the time they seemed to end up doing the grocery shopping together. So long as they only talked about things like how many apples they should get and if they needed to pick up some detergent, things between them were just fine.

They'd only tried to discuss the deeper things once. It had ended in a bloody nose for Chris and a knife laced with wolfsbane sticking out of Peter's thigh. Neither Stilinski male had been happy about it. Their reactions forced Chris and Peter into another unspoken truce, and that was... okay. Maybe they didn't need to hash out everything between them. Things had been a fucking mess between their families for centuries; their best bet seemed to be to let sleeping dogs lie.

It was strange, the way the cards fell at the Stilinski house - not bad, but certainly strange. It wasn't quite family, but it was close. Probably closer still to pack, which was probably the reason Peter was so willing not to goad Chris the majority of the time. John was away from home too much and Stiles was still struggling so hard to find even ground that it broke his heart. Peter shifted between being a sarcastic pain in Chris' ass and being someone they could all depend on, and Chris himself just did his best and seemed to slot in alongside them just fine.

They were all damaged - broken, bent and twisted by life into new, strange shapes... and yet they all managed to fit together.

~.~.~

"Stiles darling, wherever are you going?" Chris came to a stop when he heard Peter's voice, lingering just around the corner from the living room to listen. The werewolf would likely know he was there, but he couldn't bring himself to give a shit.

"Scott needs me," Stiles said, defiance and exhaustion twisted together in his voice. "Remember the disappearances? We still haven't found anything and people are still disappearing. They weren't headed to the same area, they didn't go to the Preserve for the same reason, their friends and family have nothing, and the only supernatural hint we have is still Deaton's gut. We're regrouping today to try and--"

"I know all that," Peter interrupted, sounding frustrated. "But _why_ are you involving yourself?"

"Because it's pack business."

Peter scoffed, and Chris could picture the sneering derision that would be on his face. "Please. You can _hardly_ call what McCall has a pack. They don't even smell like each other."

"Why do you have to make it sound so creepy?"

"Why do you keep putting yourself at their beck and call? They ignore you when they don't need you, and then something like _this_ happens and suddenly--"

"Look, they're trying, alright?"

"Their version of trying looks suspiciously like neglect."

"The Nogitsune was hard on all of us. We're... we're just still looking for a new balance, okay? Things were... better, a little, when we were still in school. Once summer is over--"

"Oh, so when they don't have to be making the _choice_ to see you, when it's forced on them, they'll find a way to tolerate you. Well, that just makes it all better then, doesn't it? Now that I know _that_ , I'll be thrilled to put your health and happiness in their hands."

"Peter--"

"I should chain you to your bed until you realize they're only using you," Peter said, a hint of a growl in the words. Chris would have stepped forward and intervened, because _hell no_ , but he had also heard a hint of desperation. It had been there through the whole conversation, along with resignation - he knew Stiles wouldn't listen.

Chris didn't entirely disagree with the werewolf's arguments either.

"I already know they're using me, zombie-wolf," Stiles said, and Chris ran one hand down his face at the _acceptance_ he heard there. "It's fine - I get it. I messed up--"

"It wasn't--"

" _It wore my face_ ," Stiles broke in, voice raw and full of emotion. "They have to deal with that every time they look at me. The Nogitsune hurt every single one of them, Peter, and it looked exactly like me while doing it. They couldn't even tell when it was me and when it wasn't, because--"

"Because they're morons," Peter returned heatedly. "If they'd come to me--"

"Oh come off it Peter. You wouldn't have known shit. I _hurt them_ , or at least that's how they see it even if they don't want to, and it was because I wasn't strong enough to fight off the Nogitsune. No, shut up. I'm talking, you're not. It picked me because I was weak, because of the darkness that was in me way before we didn't that damned ritual. Maybe it opened the door, but all the bad shit was already inside, okay? I'm not... I'm not _good_ like Scott--"

"Scott McCall is--"

"My best friend!" Stiles shouted, making Chris wince. He had never heard the pair argue like this, and he couldn't imagine it would end well. "He's my best friend, Peter - practically my brother, and because of a thing that looked like me he had to hold his first love in his arms while she died. He's _trying_ , they're all trying, and I'm _going_ whether you like it or not. I need to help them, Peter. I need to be useful - it's why they're keeping me around. If I can just... if I'm useful long enough, maybe they'll start to trust me again. I can't just snap my fingers and expect it to happen, okay? And maybe you're fine just... just fucking hanging out on the fringes, but I'm _not_. I want to know what's going on, I want to help, I want... you know what? I'm not arguing with you anymore - don't wanna be late. Maybe try and pull your head out of your ass while I'm gone."

Chris listened as Stiles stomped his way to the front door, then flung it open violently before slamming it shut. The silence that descended over the house was fraught with tension, and then he heard Peter snarl. He expected to then hear something else - maybe a glass hitting the wall, or Peter punching the wall, or Peter doing something else destructive, but... there was nothing. Unsure of his welcome but mindful that he actually _lived_ there, Chris ventured out into the living room.

"Don't say a word," the werewolf said in a growl. That had Chris raising his brows, but he pushed down his irritation with Peter and just shrugged.

"Wasn't going to."

"He's an idiot."

"He misses his friends."

"He has us. He has _me_."

"Peter, Stiles is seventeen years old. Hanging out with his dad and two other old fogeys is not going to be enough, and it shouldn't be. He should have people his own age who--"

"I never said he shouldn't have friends."

"You implied it though," Chris pointed out, trying not to smile when Peter shot him a glare. "Little bit."

"I want him to have friends. I just don't know why he has to choose _them_."

"Look, he and Scott were practically best friends in the womb, from what Al- ... from what she told me. Do you really expect Stiles to just walk away from that?"

"... he should."

"You wouldn't like him as much as you do if he were the kind of kid who walked away from people he loves because things get hard."

"Must you be so insightful? It's unbearable, especially from a Hunter."

"Not much of a Hunter anymore. Not much of anything these days."

"Mostly a mooch," Peter said in agreement, nodding sagely. It was almost enough to make Chris want to punch him. "Have you managed to find a job yet, or do you plan to lounge around in your underwear for the foreseeable future?"

"First of all, you have never and will never see me in my underwear--"

"Thank the moon for small favors."

"And secondly - not that it's any of your business - but I work from home now."

"Of course you do."

Chris refused to rise to the bait and ignored Peter while he headed for the couch and plopped down onto it. "If you're going to pout and sulk over Stiles being with Scott the whole time he's gone, do it somewhere else. My shows are on soon."

"You sound like a housewife."

"And you sound like a jealous ass. Go away."

Peter snarled at him again, and Chris was tempted to brandish a gun at him to encourage him to move on, but they'd promised the Stilinskis that they would keep the physical fighting to a minimum. "I hope all your favorite characters die," Peter hissed before heading for the front door. Once it was open he paused, and Chris heard him take a deep breath. "Try and get him to eat something at dinner, will you?"

"You won't be here?" Chris tried to keep the censure out of his voice as he turned to look at the werewolf, but it was hard. Punishing Stiles by disappearing was the worst way to handle their little disagreement, but Chris wasn't going to get involved. Nope. Not getting involved. "... you aren't going to make him sleep alone, are you?" Okay, maybe he'd get a little bit involved.

"Please. Stiles wouldn't like me as much as he does if I were the type to walk away when things got hard," Peter sniped back before looking over his shoulder at Chris, eyes flashing blue. "I will _never_ leave him alone like that, not so long as I have breath in my body. I just have a little... digging to do, and I doubt I'll be done before dinner. ... if he looks worried, tell him I promised I'd be back before he goes to sleep, will you?"

Chris wanted to ask why Peter didn't just text Stiles, or maybe call or leave a note, but held his tongue. "If he asks, I'll let him know," he promised instead. "If you're doing your 'digging' somewhere dangerous, try not to get killed. Stiles would miss you and there's only so many times even you can come back from that."

"Please. Nothing so petty as death could ever keep me down for long. ... I'll see you when I get back, I suppose."

Peter was gone before Chris had to return the sentiment. Things at the Stilinski house were so _strange_ , and being on speaking terms with a sworn enemy (former sworn enemy, maybe) was uncomfortable. Still. With so much of his family gone and Isaac safe and happy in a pack in France, Chris couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> Next up is gonna be Kira and Stiles jamming out to the Mulan movie, because that scene has been demanding to be written since I mentioned it in the last fic, but I'm trying to keep the story linear. ;.; But now I finally can! Yaaay!
> 
> I have a [Tumblr](tahlreth.tumblr.com) where I mostly reblog things without tagging them. Also take prompts and stuff, if you wanna toss me any. <3


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